MASTERPIECES  oT 
SffEMOCKJMLMES 

Jiy 


THE 

FORBIDDEN 
ii  iWAY 

A  splendid  new  serial  by  the  noted  author- 
artist,  GEORGE  GIBBS,  begins  in  Next 
Sunday's  issue  of  the    ::    ::    ::    ::    ::  :: 

Sunday  N 
Post  Magazine 


i 


I  You  remember  how  delighted  you  were  with  Mr.  Gibbs'  recent 
(  serial,  "The  Bolted  Door,"  in  the  Sunday  Magazine.  You  will  be 
|  still  more  delighted  with  "The  Forbidden  Way."    ::    ::    ::    ::  :: 

Also  two  stories  entered  in  the  $10,000  Short 
Story  Contest,  a  "Shorty"  McCabe  story,  and 
the  culmination  of  that  fascinating  "New  York 
Arabian  Nights'  Entertainment." 


.J 


MASTERPIECES 
OF  SHERLOCK  HOLMES 


onan 


T>oi/fe 


Copyright,  1905,  by  McClure,  Phillips  &  Co.— Copyright,  190  3,  1904,  1905  by  A.  Conan  Doyle  and  Collier's  Weekly. 

The  Adventure  of  the  Golden  Pince-Nez 


W~"|HEN  I  look  at  the  three  massive  manu- 
_  script  volumes  which  contain  our  work  for 
the  year  1894,  I  confess  that  it  is  very  diffi- 
cult for  me,  out  of  such  a  wealth  of  material, 
to  select  the  cases  which  are  most  interesting  in 
themselves,  and  at  the  same  time  most  conducive 
to  a  display  of  those  peculiar  powers  for  which  my 
friend  was  famous.  As  I  turn  over  the  pages,  I 
see  my  notes  upon  the  repulsive  story  of  the  red 
leech  and  the  terrible  death  of  Crosby,  the  banker. 
Here  also  I  find  an  account  of  the  Addleton 
tragedy,  and  the  singular  contents  of  the  ancient 
British  barrow.  The  famous  Smith-Mortimer 
succession  case  comes  also  within  this  period,  and 
so  does  the  tracking  and  arrest  of  Huret,  the  Boule- 
vard assassin — an  exploit  which  won  for  Holmes 
an  autograph  letter  of  thanks  from  the  French 
President  and  the  Order  of  the  Legion  of  Honour. 
Each  of  these  would  furnish  a  narrative,  but  on  the 
whole  I  am  of  opinion  that  none  of  them  unites 
so  many  singular  points  of  interest  as  the  episode 
of  Yoxley  Old  Place,  which  includes  not  only  the 
lamentable  death  of  young  Willoughby  Smith, 
but  also  those  subsequent  developments  which 
threw  so  curious  a  light  upon  the  causes  of  the 
crime. 

It  was  a  wild,  tempestuous  night,  towards  the 
close  of  November.  Holmes  and  I  sat  together  in 
silence  all  the  evening,  he  engaged  with  a  powerful 
lens  deciphering  the  remains  of  the  original  in- 
scription upon  a  palimpsest,  I  deep  in  a  recent 
treatise  upon  surgery.    Outside  the  wind  howled 


down  Baker  Street,  while  the  rain  beat  fiercely 
against  the  windows.  It  was  strange  there,  in  the 
very  depths  of  the  town,  with  ten  miles  of  man's 
handiwork  on  every  side  of  us,  to  feel  the  iron 
grip  of  Nature,  and  to  be  conscious  that  to  the 
huge  elemental  forces  all  London  was  no  more 
than  the  molehills  that  dot  the  fields.  I  walked 
to  the  window,  and  looked  out  on  the  deserted 
street.  The  occasional  lamps  gleamed  on  the 
expanse  of  muddy  roady  and  shining  pavement. 
A  single  cab  was  splashing  its  way  from  the 
Oxford   Street  end. 

"Well,  Watson,  it's  as  well  we  have  not  to  turn 
out  tonight,"  said  Holmes,  laying  aside  his  lens 
and  rolling  up  the  palimpsest.  "I've  done  enough 
for  one  sitting.  It  is  trying  work  for  the  eyes.  So 
far  as  I  can  make  out,  it  is  nothing  more  exciting 
than  an  Abbey's  accounts  dating  from  the  second 
half  of  the  fifteenth  century.  Halloa!  halloa! 
halloa!    What's  this?" 

Amid  the  droning  of  the  wind  there  had  come 
the  stamping  of  a  horse's  hoofs,  and  the  long 
grind  of  a  wheel  as  it  rasped  against  the  kerb.  The 
cab  which  I  had  seen  had  pulled  up  at  our  deor. 

"What  can  he  want?"  I  ejaculated,  as  a  man 
stepped  out  of  it. 

"Want?  He  wants  us.  And  we,  my  poor 
Watson,  want  overcoats  and  cravats  and  goloshes, 
and  every  aid  that  man  ever  invented  to  fight  the 
weather.  Wait  a  bit,  though !  There's  the  cab  off 
again!  There's  hope  yet.  He'd  have  kept  it  if 
he  had  wanted  us  to  come.   Run  down,  my  dear 


4 


MASTERPIBCESrOF  SHERLOCK  1TOE-MES 


fellow,  and  open  the  door,  for  all  virtuous  folk 
have -been  long  in  bed." 

When  the  light  of  the  hall  lamp  fell  upon  our 
midnight  visitor,  I  had  no  difficulty  in  recog- 
nizing him.  It  was  young  Stanley  Hopkins,  a 
promising  detective,  in  whose  career  Holmes  had 
several  times  shown  a  very  practical  interest. 

"Is  he  in?"  he  asked,  eagerly. 

"Come  up,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Holmes'  voice 
from  above.  "I  hope  you  have  no  designs  upon 
us  such  a  night  as  this." 

The  detective  mounted  the  stairs,  and,  our  lamp 
gleamed  upon  his  shining  waterproof.  I  helped 
him  out  of  it,  while  Holmes  knocked  a  blaze  out 
of  the  logs  in  the  grate. 

"Now,  my  dear  Hopkins,  draw  up  and  warm 
your  toes,"  said  he.  "Here's  a  cigar,  and  the 
doctor  has  a  prescription  containing  hot  water 
and  a  lemon,  which  is  good  medicine  on  anight 
like  this.  It  must  be  something  important  which 
has  brought  you  out  in  such  a  gale." 

"It  is  indeed,  Mr.  Holmes.  I've  had  a  bustling 
afternoon,  I  promise  you.  Did  you  see  anything 
of  the  Yoxley  case  in  the  latest  editions?" 

"I've  seen  nothing  later  than  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury today." 

"Well,  it  was  only  a  paragraph,  and  all  wrong 
at  that,  and  so  you  have  not  missed  anything. 
I  haven't  let  the  grass  grow  under  my  feet.  It's 
down  in  Kent,  seven  miles  from  Chatham  and 
three  from  the  railway  line.  I  was  wired  for  at 
three-fifteen,  reached  Yoxley  Old  Place  at  five, 
conducted  my  investigation,  was  back  at  Charing 
Cross  by  the  last  train,  and  straight  to  you  by  cab." 

"Which  means,  I  suppose,  that  you  are  not  quite 
clear  about  your  case?" 

"It  means  that  I  can  make  neither  head  nor 
tail  of  it.  So  far  as  I  can  see,  it  is  just  as  tangled 
a  business  as  I  ever  handled,  and  yet  at  first, 
it  seemed  so  simple  that  one  couldn't  go  wrong. 
There's  no  motive,  Mr.  Holmes.  That's  what 
bothers  me — I  can't  put  my  hand  on  a  motive. 
Here's  a  man  dead — there's  no  denying  that — • 
but  so  far  as  I  can  see,  no  reason  on  earth  why 
anyone  should  wish  him  harm." 

Holmes  lit  his  cigar  and  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

"Let  us  hear  about  it  he  said." 

"I've  got  my  facts  pretty  clear,"  said  Stanley 
Hopkins.  "All  I  want  now  is  to  know  what  they 
all  mean.  The  story  so  far  as  I  can  make  it  out,  is 
like  this.  Some  years  ago  this  country  house, 
Yoxley  Old  Place,  was  taken  by  an  elderly  man, 
who  gave  the  name  of  Professor  Coram.  He 
was  an  invalid,  keeping  his  bed  half  the  time,  and 
the  other  half  hobbling  round  the  house  with  a 
stick  or  being  pushed  about  the  grounds  by  the 


gardener  in  a  bath  chair.  He  was  well  liked  by 
the  few  neighbors  who  called  upon  him,  and  he 
has  the  reputation  down  there  of  being  a  very 
learned  man.  His  household  used  to  consist  of 
an  elderly  housekeeper,  Mrs.  Marker,  and  of  a 
maid  Susan  Tarlton.  These  have  both  been 
with  him  since  his  arrival,  and  they  seem  to  be 
women  of  excellent  character.  The  Professor  is 
writing  a  learned  book,  and  he  found  it  neces- 
sary, about  a  year  ago,  to  engage  a  secretary.  The 
first  two  that  he  tried  were  not  successes,  but 
the  third,  Mr.  Willoughby  Smith,  a  very  young 
man  straight  from  the  University,  seems  to  have 
been  just  what  his  employer  wanted.  His  work 
consisted  in  writing  all  the  morning  to  the  Profes- 
sor's dictation,  and  he  usually  spent  the  evening  in 
hunting  up  references  and  passages  which  bore 
upon  the  next  day's  work.  This  Willoughby 
Smith  has  nothing  against  him,  either  as  a  boy 
at  Uppingham  or  as  a  young  man  at  Cambridge. 
I  have  seen  his  testimonials,  and  from  the  first 
he  was  a  quiet,  decent  hardworking  fellow,  with 
no  weak  spot  in  him  at  all.  And  yet  this  is  the 
lad  who  has  met  his  death  this  morning  in  the 
Professor's  study  under  circumstances  which  can 
point  only  to  murder." 

The  wind  howled  and  screamed  at  the  windows. 
Holmes  and  I  drew  closer  to  the  fire,  while  the 
young  inspector  slowly  and  point  by  point  devel- 
oped his  singular  narrative. 

"If  you  were  to  search  all  England,"  said  he, 
"I  don't  suppose  you  could  find  a  household 
more  self-contained  or  freer  from  outside  influences. 
Whole  weeks  would  pass,  and  not  one  of  them  go 
past  the  garden  gate.  The  Professor  was  buried 
in  his  work  and  existed  for  nothing  else.  Young 
Smith  knew  nobody  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
lived  very  much  as  his  employer  did.  The  two 
women  had  nothing  to  take  them  from  the  house. 
Mortimer,  the  gardener,  who  wheels  the  bath- 
chair,  is  an  army  pensioner — an  old  Crimean  man 
of  excellent  character.  He  does  not  live  in  the 
house,  but  in  a  three-roomed  cottage  at  the  other 
end  of  the  garden.  Those  are  the  only  people 
that  you  would  find  within  the  grounds  of  Yoxley 
Old  Place.  At  the  same  time,  the  gate  of  the  garden 
is  a  hundred  yards  from  the  main  London  to  Chat- 
ham road.  It  opens  with  a  latch,  and  there  is 
nothing  to  prevent  anyone  from  walking  in. 

"Now  I  will  give  you  the  . evidence  of  Susan 
Tarlton,  who  is  the  only  person  who  could  say 
anything  positive  about  the  matter.  It  was  in  the 
forenoon,  between  eleven  and  twelve.  She  was 
engaged  at  the  moment  in  hanging  some  curtains 
in  the  upstairs  front  bedroom.  Professor  Coram 
was  still  in  bed,  for  when  the  weather  is  bad  he 


HBO 


First  fold 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  THE  GOLDEN  PINCE-NEZ 


5 


6 


MASTERPIECES  OF  SHERLOCK  HOLMES 


seldom  rises  before  midday.  The  housekeeper  was  busied 
with  some  work  in  the  back  of  the  house.  Willoughby  Smith 
had  been  in  his  bedroom,  which  he  uses  as  a  sitting-room, 
but  the  maid  heard  him  at  that  moment  pass  along  the 
passage  and  descend  to  the  study  immediately  below  her. 
She  did  not  see  him,  but  she  says  that  she  could  not  be 
mistaken  in  his  quick,  firm  tread.  She  did  not  hear  the 
study  door  close,  but  a  minute  or  so  later  there  was  a 
dreadful  cry  in  the  room  below.  It  was  a  wild,  hoarse 
scream,  so  strange  and  unnatural  that  it  might  have  come 
either  from  a  man  or  a  woman.  At  the  same  instant  there 
was  a  heavy  thud,  which  shook  the  old  house,  and  then  all 
was  silence.  The  maid  stood  petrified  for  a  moment,  and 
then,  recovering  her  courage,  she  ran  downstairs.  The  study 
door  was  shut  and  she  opened  it.  Inside,  young  Mr.  Wil- 
loughby Smith  was  stretched  upon  the  floor.  At  first  she 
could  see  no  injury,  but  as  she  tried  to  raise  him  she  saw 
that  blood  was  pouring  from  the  underside  of  his  neck.  It 
was  pierced  by  a  very  small  but  very  deep  wound,  which 
had  divided  the  carotid  artery.  The  instrument  with  which 
the  injury  had  been  inflicted  lay1  upon  the  carpet  beside 
him.  It  was  one  of  those  small  sealing-wax  knives  to  be 
found  on  old-fashioned  writing-tables,  with  an  ivory  handle 
and  a  stiff  blade.  It  was  part  of  the  fittings  of  the  Pro- 
fessor's own  desk. 

"At  first  the  maid  thought  that  young  Smith  was  already 
dead,  but  on  pouring  some  water  from  the  carafe  over  his 
forehead  he  opened  his  eyes  for  an  instant.  'The  Professor,' 
he  murmured — 'it  was  she.'  The  maid  is  prepared  to  swear 
that  those  were  the  exact  words.  He  tried  desperately  to 
say  something  else,  and  he  held  his  right  hand  up  in  the 
air.    Then  he  fell  back  dead. 

"In  the  meantime  the  housekeeper  had  also  arrived  upon 
the  scene,  but  she  was  just  too  late  to  catch  the  young  man's 
dying  words.  Leaving  Susan  with  the  body,  she  hurried 
to  the  Professor's  room.  He  was  sitting  up  in  bed  horribly 
agitated,  for  he  had  heard  enough  to  convince  him  that 
something  terrible  had  occurred.  Mrs.  Marker  is  prepared 
to  swear  that  the  Professor  was  still  in  his  night-clothes, 
and  indeed  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  dress  without  the 
help  of  Mortimer,  whose  orders  were  to  come  at  twelve 
o'clock.  The  Professor  declares  that  he  heard  the  distant 
cry,  but  that  he  knows  nothing  more.  He  can  give  no 
explanation  of  the  young  man's  last  words,  'The  Pro- 
fessor— it  was  she,'  but  imagines  that  they  Were  the  out- 
come of  delirium.  He  believes  that  Willoughby  Smith  had 
not  an  enemy  in  the  world,  and  can  give  no  reason  for  the 
crime.    His  first  action  was  to  send  Mortimer,  the  gardener, 


0+3*  40itnam 

Pcofessci'Stutfy 


Pro»«3»ori 
bed  room  . 


for  the  local  police.  A  little  later  the  chief  constable  sent 
for  me.  Nothing  was  moved  before  I  got  there,  and  strict 
orders  were  given  that  no  one  should  walk  upon  the  paths 


leading  to  the  house.  It  was  a  splendid  chance  of  putting 
your  theories  into  practice,  Mr.  Sherlock  Holmes.  There 
was  really  nothing  wanting." 

"Except  Mr.  Sherlock  Holmes,"  said  my  companion, 
with  a  somewhat  bitter  smile.  "Well,  let  us  hear  about 
it.   What  sort  of  a  job  did  you  mak»  of  it?" 

"I  must  ask  you  first,  Mr.  Holmes,  to  glance  at  this 
rough  plan,  which  will  give  you  a  general  idea  of  theS 
position  of  the  Professor's  study  and  the  various  points 
of  the  case.   It  will  help  you  in  following  my  investigation." 

He  unfolded  the  rough  chart  which  I  here  reproduce, 
and  he  laid  it  across  Holmes'  knee.  I  rose,  and,  standing 
behind  Holmes,  studied  it  over  his  shoulder. 

"It  is  very  rough  of  course,  and  it  only  deals  with  the 
points  which  seem  to  me  to  be  essential.  All  the  rest  youl 
will  see  later  for  your  self.  Now,  first  of  all,  presuming^ 
that  the  assassin  entered  the  house,  how  did  he  or  she 
come  in?  Undoubtedly  by  the  garden  path  and  the  back 
door  from  which  there  is  direct  access  to  the  study.  Any 
other  way  would  have  been  exceedingly  complicated.  The 
escape  must  have  also  been  made  along  that  line,  for  of  the 
two  other  exits  from  the  room  one  was  blocked  by  Susan  as 
she  ran  down  stairs  and  the  other  leads  straight  to  the  Pro 
fessor's  bedroom.  I  therefore  directed  my  attention  a 
once  to  the  garden  path,  which  was  saturated  with  recen 
rain,  and  would  certainly  show  any  footmarks. 

"My  examination  showed  me  that  I  was  dealing  with  ; 
cautious  and  expert  criminal.    No  footmarks  were  to  b 
found  on  the  path.    There  could  be  no  question,  however 
that  someone  had  passed  along  the  grass  border  whic 
lines  the  path,  and  that  he  had  done  so  in  order  to  avoi 
leaving  a  track.      I  could  not  find  anything  in  the  natur 
of  a  distinct  impression,  but  the  grass  was  trodden  dow 
and  someone  had  undoubtedly  passed.    It  could  only  hav 
been  the  murderer,  since  neither  the  gardener  nor  anyo: 
else  had  been  there  that  morning  and  the  rain  had  onl 
begun  during  the  night." 

"One  moment,"  said  Holmes.  "Where  does  this  patw 
lead  to?" 

"To  the  road." 

"How  long  is  it?" 

"A  hundred  yards  or  so." 

"At  the  point  where  the  path  passes  through  the  gate 
you  could  surely  pick  up  the  tracks?" 

"Unfortunately  the  path,  was  tiled  at  that  point." 

"Well  on  the  road  itself?" 

"No,  it  was  all  trodden  into  mire." 

"Tut-tut!  Well,  then,  these  tracks  upon  the  grass 
Were  they  coming  or  going?" 

"It  was  impossible  to  say.  There  was  never  any  outline 

"A  large  foot  or  a  small? 

"You  could  not  distinguish." 

Holmes  gave  an  ejaculation  of  impatience. 

"It  has  been  pouring  rain  and  blowing  a  hurricane  ever 
since,"  said  he.  "It  will  be  harder  to  read  now  than  that 
palimpsest.  Well,  well,  it  can't  be  helped.  What  did  you 
do,  Hopkins,  after  you  had  made  certain  that  you  had 
made  certain  of  nothing?" 

"I  think  that  I  made  sure  of  a  good  deal,  Mr.  Holmas. 
I  knew  that  someone  had  entered  the  house  cautiously 
from  without.  I  next  examined  the  corridor.  It  is  lined 
with  cocoanut  matting,  and  had  taken  no  impression  of 
any  kind.  This  brought  me  into  the  study  itself.  It  is 
a  scantily  furnished  room.  The  main  article  is  a  large 
writing  table  with  a  fixed  bureau.  This  bureau  con- 
sists of  a  double  column  of  drawers,  with  a  central 
small  cupboard  between  them.    The  drawers  were  open,  the 


■ 


8 


MASTERPIECES  OF  SHERLOCK  HOLMES 


cupboard  locked.  The  drawers,  it  seems,  were  always  open, 
and  nothing  of  value  was  kept  in  them.  There  were  some 
papers  of  importance  in  the  cupboard,  but  there  were  no 
si4s  that  this  had  been  tampered  with,  and  the-  Professor 
assures  me  that  nothing  was  missing.  It  is  certain 
that  no  robbery  has  been  committed." 

"I  come  now  to  the  body  of  the  young  man.  It  was 
found  near  the  bureau,  and  just  to  the  left  of  it,  as  marked 
upon  that  chart.  The  stab  was  on  the  right  side  of  the 
neck  and  from  behind  forwards,  so  that  it  is  almost  im- 
possible that  it  could  have  been  self-inflicted." 
"Unless  he  fell  upon  the  knife,"  said  Holmes. 
"Exactly  The  idea  crossed  my  mind.  But  we  found 
the  knife  some  feet  away  from  the  body,  so  that  seems 
impossible.  Then  of  course  there  are.  the  mans  own 
dying  words.  And,  finally,  there  was  this  very  important 
piece  of  evidence  which  was  found  clasped  m  the  dead  man  s 
right  hand."  .  „ 

From  his  pocket  Stanley  Hopkins  drew  a  small  paper 
packet  He  unfolded  it  and  disclosed  a  golden  pince-nez, 
with  two  broken  ends  of  black  silk  cord  dangling  from 
the  end  of  it.  "Willoughby  Smith  had  excellent  sight,  he 
added.  "There  can  be  no  question  that  this  was  snatched 
from  the  face  or  the  person  of  the  assassin." 

Sherlock  Holmes  took  the  glasses  into  his  hand,  and 
examined  them  with  the  utmost  attention  and  interest 
He  held  them  on  his  nose,  endeavored  to  read  through 
them,  went  to  the  window  and  stared  up  the  street  with 
them,  looked  at  them  most  minutely  m  the  full  light 
of  the  lamp,  and  finally,  with  a  chuckle,  seated  himself 
at  the  table  and  wrote  a  few  lines  upon  a  sheet  of  paper, 
which  he  tossed  across  to  Stanley  Hopkins 

"That's  the  best  I  can  do  for  you,"  said  he.  it  may 
prove  to  be  of  some  use." 

The  astonished  detective  read  the  note  out  loud,   it  Tan 

as  follows: — -  .      ....       .  , 

"Wanted,  a  woman  of  good  address,  attired  like  a  lady. 
She  has  a  remarkably  thick  nose,  with  eyes  which  are  set 
close  upon  either  side  of  it.  She  has  a  puckered  forehead, 
a  peering  expression,  and  probably  rounded  shoulders. 
There  are  indications  that  she  has  had  recourse  to  an 
optician  at  least  twice  during  the  last  few  months.  As  her 
glasses  are  of  remarkable  strength,  and  as  opticians  are 
not  very  numerous,  there  should  be  no  difficulty  m  tracing 
her  " 

Holmes  smiled  at  the  astonishment  of  Hopkins,  which 
must  have  been  reflected  upon  my  features.  & 

"Surely  my  deductions  are  simplicity  itself,  said  he. 
"It  would  be  difficult  to  name  any  articles  which  afford  a 
finer  field  for  inference  than  a  pair  of  glasses,  especially  so 
remarkable  a  pair  as  these.  That  they  belong  to  a  woman  I 
infer  from  their  delicacy,  and  also,,  of  course,  from  the  last 
words  of  the  dying  man.  As  to  her  being  a  person  of  refine- 
ment and  well  dressed,  they  are,  as  you  perceive  hand- 
somely mounted  in  solid  gold,  and  it  is  inconceivable  that 
anyone  who  wore  such  glasses  could  be  slatternly  in  other 
respects.  You  will  find  that  the  clips  are  too  wide  for  your 
nose,  showing  that  the  lady's  nose  was  very  broad  at  the 
base  This  sort  of  nose  is  usually  a  short  and  coarse  one, 
but  there  is  a  sufficient  number  of  exceptions  to  prevent  me 
from  being  dogmatic  or  from  insisting  upon  this  point  m 
my  description.  My  own  face  is  a  narrow  one,  and  yet  l 
find  that  I  cannot  get  my  eyes  into  the  centre,  nor  near  the 
centre,  of  these  glasses.  Therefore,  the  lady  s  eyes  are  set 
very  near  to  the  sides  of  the  nose.  You  will  perceive,  Wat- 
son, that  the  glasses  are  concave  and  of  unusual  strength 
A  lady  whose  vision  has  been  so  extremely  contracted  all 


her  life  is  sure  to  have  the  physical  characteristics  of  such 
vision,  which  are  seen  in  the  forehead,  the  eyelids,  and  the 

shoulders." ;  ,  /    ,  . 

"Yes  "  I  said,  "I  can  follow  each  of  your  arguments. 
I  confess,  however,  that  I  am  unable  to  understand  how 
you  arrive  at  the  double  visit  to  the  optician." 
Holmes  took  the  glasses  in  his  hand. 
"You  will  perceive,"  he  said,  "that  the  clips  are  lined 
with  tiny  bands  of  cork  to  soften  the  pressure  upon  the 
nose  One  of  these  is  discolored  and  worn  to  some 
slight  extent,  but  the  other  is  new.  Evidently  one  has 
fallen  off  and  been  replaced.  I  should  judge  that  the  older 
of  them  has  not  been  there  more  than  a  few  months  1  hey 
exactly  correspond,  so  I  gather  that  the  lady  went  back  to 
the  same  establishment  for  the  second. 

"By  George,  it's  marvellous!"  cried  Hopkins  in  an 
ecstasv  of  admiration.  "To  think  that  I  had,  all  that 
evidence  in  my  hand  and  never  knew  it!  _  I  had  intended 
however,  to  go  the  round  of  the  London  opticians. 
!  "Of  course  you  would.  Meanwhile,  have  you  any- 
thing more  to -tell  us  about  the  case?" 

"Nothing  Mr.  Holmes.  I  think  that  you  know  as  much 
as  I  do  now— probably  more.  We  have  had  inquiries  made 
as  to  any  stranger  seen  on  the  country  roads  or  at 
the  railway  station.  We  have  heard  of  none.  _  What  beats 
me  is  the  utter  want  of  all  object  in  the  crime.  Not 
ghost  of  a  motive  can  anyone  suggest." 

"Ah!  there  I  am  not  in  a  position  to  help  you.  But 
suppose  you  want  us  to  come  out  tomorrow?" 

"If  it  is  not  asking  too  much,  Mr.  Holmes.  There  s 
train  from  Charing  Cross  to  Chatham  at  six  m  the  mor; 
ing,  and  we  should  be  at  Yoxley  Old  Place  between  eig 

an"Then  we  shall  take  it.    Your  case  has  certainly  soi 
features  of  great  interest,  and  I  shall  be  delighted  to  loo 
into  it.    Well,  it's  nearly  one,  and  we  had  best  get  a  le 
hours'  sleep.  I  dare  say  you  can  manage  a  1  right  on  th 
•  sofa  in  front  of  the  fire.   I'll  light  my  spirit  lamp,  and  giv 
you  a  cup  of  coffee  before  we  start." 

The  gale  had  blown  itself  out  next  day,  but  it  was  a  bitt 
morning  when  we  started  upon  our  journey.   We  saw  t 
cold  winter  sun  rise  over  the  dreary  marshes  of  the  Tham 
and  the  long,  sullen  reaches  of  the  river,  which  I  shall  ev 
associate  with  our  pursuit  of  the  Andaman  Islander  in  t 
earlier  days  of  our  career.   After  a  long  and  wears [journe. 
we  alighted  at  a  ,  small  station  some  miles  from  Chatha 
While  a  horse  was  being  put  into  a  trap  at  the  local  inn,  j 
snatched  a  hurried  breakfast,  and  so  we  were  all  ready  t 
business  when  we  at  last  arrived  at  Yoxley  Old  Place, 
constable  met  us  at  the  garden  gate. 
"Well,  Wilson,  any  news?" 
"'No,  sir— nothing." 
"No  reports  of  any  stranger  seen? 
"No,  sir.    Down  at  the  station  they  are  certain  that 
stranger  either  came  or  went  yesterday."  , 
"Have  you  had  inquiries  made  at  inns  and  lodgings 
"Yes  sir:  there  is  no  one  that  we  cannot  account  lor. 
"Well  it's  only  a  reasonable  walk  to  Chatham.  Anyo 
might  stay  there  or  take  a  train  without  being  observ- 
es is  thl  garden  path  of  which  I  spoke,  Mr.  Holmes, 
pledge  my  word  there  was  no  mark  on  it  yesterday. 
"On  which  side  were  the  marks  on  the  grass? 
"This  side,  sir.   This  narrow  margin  of  grass  between 
path  and  the  flower-bed.    I  can't  see  the  traces  now,  b 
they  were  clear  to  me  then." 

"Yes,  yes:  someone  has  passed  along,    said  noi 
stooping  over  the  grass  border.     "Our  lady  must  1 


10 


MASTERPIECES  OF  SHERLOCK  HOLMES 


picked  her  steps  carefully,  must  she  not,  since  on  the  one 
side  she  would  leave  a  track  on  the  path,  and  on  the  other 
an  even  clearer  one  on  the  soft  bed?" 

"Yes,  sir,  she  must  have  been  a  cool  hand." 

I  saw  an  intent  look  pass  over  Holmes'  face. 

"You  say  that  she  must  have  come  back  this  way?" 

"Yes,  sir,  there  is  no  other." 

"On  this  strip  of  grass?" 

"Certainly,  Mr.  Holmes." 

"Hum !  It  was  a  very  remarkable  performance — very 
remarkable.  Well,  I  think  we  have  exhausted  the  path. 
Let  us  go  farther. v  This  garden  door  is  usually  kept  open, 
I  suppose?  Then  this  visitor  had  nothing  to  do  but  walk 
in.  The  idea  of  murder  was  not  in  her  mind,  or  she  would 
have  provided  herself  with  some  sort  of  weapon,  instead  of 
having  to  pick  this  knife  off  the  writing-table.  She  ad- 
vanced along  this  corridor,  leaving  no  traces  upon  the 
cocoanut  matting.  Then  she  found  herself  in  this  study. 
How  long  was  she  there?   We  have  no  means  of  judging." 

"Not  more  than  a  few  minutes,  sir.  I  forgot  to  tell  you 
that  Mrs.  Marker,  the  housekeeper,  had  been  in  there 
tidying  not  very  long  before— about  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
she  says." 

"Well,  that  gives  us  a  limit.  Our  lady  enters  this  room, 
and  what  does  she  do?  She  goes  over  to  the  writing-table. 
What  for?  Not  for  anything  in  the  drawers.  If  there  had 
been  anything  worth  her  taking,  it  wOuld'surely  have  been 
locked  up.  No,  it  was  for  something  in  that  wooden 
bureau.  Halloa!  what  is  that  scratch  upon  the  face  of  it? 
Just  hold  a  match,  Watson.  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  of 
this,  Hopkins?" 

The  mark  which  he  was  examining  began  upon  the  brass- 
work  on  the  right-hand  side  of  the  keyhole,  and  extended 
for  about  four  inches,  where  it  had  scratched  the  varnish 
from  the  surface. 

"I  noticed  it,  Mr.  Holmes,  but  you'll  always  find  scratches 
round  a  keyhole." 

"This  is  recent,  quite  recent.  See  how  the  brass  shines 
where  it  is  cut.  An  old  scratch  would  be  the  same  color 
as  the  surface.  Look  at  it  through  my  lens.  There's  the 
varnish,  too,  like  earth  on  e'ach  side  of  a  furrow.  Is  Mrs. 
Marker  there? 

A  sad-faced,  elderly  woman  came  into  the  room. 

"Did  you  dust  this  bureau  yesterday  morning?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Did  you  notice  this  scratch?" 
"No,  sir,  I  did  not." 

"I  am  sure  you  did  not,  for  a  duster  would  have  swept 
away  these  shreds  of  varnish.  Who  has  the  key  of  this 
bureau?" 

"The  Professof^ceeps  it  on  his  watch-chain." 

"Is  it  a  simple'key?" 

"No,  sir,  it  is  a  Chubb's  key." 

"Very  good.  Mrs.  Marker,  you  can  go.  Now  we  are 
making  a  little  progress.  Our  lady  enters  the  room, 
advances  to  the  bureau,  and  either  opens  it  or  tries  to  do  so. 
While  she  is  thus  engaged,  young  Willoughby  Smith  enters 
the  room.  In  her  hurry  to  draw  the  key,  she  makes  this 
scratch  upon  the  door.  He  seizes  her,  and  she,  snatching 
up  the  nearest  object,  which  happens  to  be  this  knife, 
strikes  at  him  in  order  to  make  him  let  go  his  hold.  The 
blow  is  a  fatal  one.  He  falls  and  she  escapes,  either  with  or 
without  the  object  for  which  she  has  come.  Is  Susan,  the 
maid,  there?  Could  anyone  have  got  away  through  that 
door  after  the  time  that  you  heard  the  cry,  Susan?" 

"No,  sir,  it  is  impossible.  Before'  I  got  down  the  stair, 


I'd  have  seen  anyone  in  the  passage.  Besides,  the  dooi 
never  opened,  or  I  would  have  heard  it." 

"That  settles  this  exit.  Then  no  doubt  the  lady  went  out 
the  way  she  came.  I  understand  that  this  other  passage 
leads  only  to  the  Professor's  room.  There  is  no  exit  that 
way?" 

"No,  sir." 

"We  shall  go  down  it  and  make  the  acquaintance  of  the 
Professor.  Halloa,  Hopkins !  this  is  very  important,  very 
important  indeed.  The  Professor's  corridor  is  also  lined 
with  cocoanut  matting." 

"Well,  sir,  what  of  that?" 

"Don't  you  see  any  bearing  upon  the  case?  Well,well, 
I  don't  insist  upon  it.  No  doubt  I  am  wrong.  And  yet  it 
seems  to  me  to  be  suggestive.  Come  with  me  and  intro- 
duce me." 

We  passed  down  the  passage,  which  was  of  the  same 
length  as  that  which  led  to  the  garden.  At  the  end  was  a 
short  flight  of  steps  ending  in  a  door.  Our  guide  knocked 
and  then  ushered  us  into  the  Professor's  bedroom. 

It  was  a  very  large  chamber,  lined  with  innumerable 
volumes,  which  had  overflowed  from  the  shelves  and  lay 
in  piles  in  the  corners,  or  were  stacked  all  round  at  the 
base  of  the  cases.  The  bed  was  in  the  centre  of  the  room, 
and  in  it,  propped  up  with  pillows,  was  the  owner  of  the 
house.  I  have  seldom  seen  a  more  remarkable -looking  per- 
son. It  was  a  gaunt,  aquiline  face  which  was  turned 
towards  us,  with  piercing  dark  eyes,  which  lurked  in  deep 
hollows  under  overhung  and  tufted  brows.  His  hair  and 
beard  were  white,  save  that  the  latter  was  curiously 
stained  with  yellow  around  his  mouth.  A  cigarette  glowed 
amid  the  tangle  of  white  hair,  and  the  air  of  the  room  was 
fetid  with  stale  tobacco-smoke.  As  he  held  out  his  hand  to 
Holmes,  I  perceived  that  it  was  also  stained  with  yellow 
nicotine. 

"A  smoker,  Mr.  Holmes?"  said  he,  speaking  in  well- 
chosen  English,  with  a  curious  little  mincing  accent.  "Pray 
take  a  cigarette.  And  you,  sir?  I  can  recommend  them,  for 
I  have  them  especially  prepared  by  Ionides,  of  Alexandria. 
He  sends  me  a  thousand  at  a  time,  and  I  grieve  to  say  that 
I  have  to  arrange  for  a  fresh  supply  every  fortnight.  Bad, 
sir,  very  bad,  but  an  old  man  has  Jew  pleasures.  Tobacco 
and  my  work — that  is  all  that  is  leit  to  me." 

Holmes  had  lit  a  cigarette,  and  was  shooting  little  darting 
glances  all  over  the  room. 

"Tobacco  and  my  work,  but  now  only  tobacco,"  the  old 
man  exclaimed.  "Alas!  what  a  fatal  interruption!  Who 
could  have  foreseen  such  a  terrible  catastrophe?  So  esti- 
mable a  young  man !  I  assure  you  that,  after  a  few  months' 
training,  he  was  an  admirable  assistant.  What  do  you 
think  of  the  matter,  Mr.  Holmes?" 

"I  have  not  yet  made  up  my  mind." 

"I  shall  indeed  be  indebted  to  you  if  you  can  throw  a 
light  where  all  is  so  dark  to  us.  To  -a  poor  bookworm  and 
invalid  like  myself  such  a  blow  is  paralyzing.  I  seem  to  have 
lost  the  faculty  of  thought.  But  you  are  a  man  of  action — 
you  are  a  man  of  affairs.  It  is  part  of  the  everyday  routine 
of  your  life.  You  can  preserve  your  balance  in  every 
emergency.  We  are  fortunate,  indeed,  in  having  you  at  our 
side." 

Holmes  was  pacing  up  and  down  one  side  of  the  room 
whilst  the  old  Professor  was  talking.  I  observed  that  he 
was  smoking  with  extraordinary  rapidity.  It  Was  evident 
that  he  shared  our  host's  liking  for  the  fresh  Alexandrian 
cigarettes. 

"Yes,  sir,  it  is  a  crushing  blow,"  said  the  old  man.  "  That 
is  my  magnum  opus — the  pile  of  papers  on  the  side  table 


12  MASTERPIECES  OF  SHERLOCK  HOLMES 


yonder.  It  is  my  analysis  of  the  documents  found  in  the 
Coptic  monasteries  of  Syria  and  Egypt,  a  work  which  will 
cut  deep  at  the  very  foundation  of  revealed  religion.  With 
my  enfeeblecLhealth  I  do  not  know  whether  I  shall  ever  be 
able  to  complete  it,  now  that  my  assistant  has  been  taken 
from  me.  Dear  me!  Mr.  Holmes,  why,  you  are  even  a 
quicker  smoker  than  I  am  myself." 
Holmes  smiled. 

"I  am  a  connoisseur,"  said  he,  taking  another  cigarette 
from  the  box — his  fourth — and  lighting  it  from  the  stub  of 
ui&l  r.hieh  he  had  finished.  "I  will  not  trouble  you  with 
any  lengthy  cross-examination,  Professor  Coram,  since  I 
gather  that  you  were  in  bed  at  the  time  of  the  crime,  and 
could  know  nothing  about  it.  I  would  only  ask  this.  What 
do  you  imagine  that  this  poor  fellow  meant  by  his  last 
words:    'The  Professor — it  was  she'?" 

The  Professor  shook  his  head. 

"Susan  is  a  country  girl,"  said  he,  "and  you  know  the 
Incredible  stupidity  of  that  class.  I  fancy  that  the  poor 
fellow  murmured  some  incoherent,  delirious  words,  and  that 
she  twisted  them  into  this  meaningless  message." 

"I  see.  You  have  no  explanation  yourself  of  the  trag- 
edy?" 

"Possibly  an  accident,  possibly — I  only  breathe  it  among 
ourselves — a  suicide.  Young  men  have  their  hidden 
troubles — some  affair  of  the  heart,  perhaps,  which  we  have 
never  known.  It  is  a  more  probable  supposition  than 
murder." 

"But  the  eye-glasses?" 

"Ah!  I  am  only  a  student — a  man  of  dreams.  I  cannot 
explain  the  practical  things  of  life.  But  still,  we  are  aware, 
my  friend,  that  love-gages  may  take  strange  shapes.  By 
all  means  take  another  cigarette.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  see 
anyone  appreciate  them  so.  A  fan,  a  glove,  glasses — who 
knows  what  article  may  be  carried  as  a  token  or  treasured 
when  a  man  puts  an  end  to  his  life?  This  gentleman  speaks 
of  footsteps  in  the  grass,  but,  after  all,  it  is  easy  to  be  mis- 
taken on  such  a  point.  As  to  the  knife,  it  might  well  be 
thrown  far  from  the  unfortunate  man  as  he  fell.  It  is  possi- 
ble that  I  speak  as  a  child,  but  to  me  it  seems  that  Wil- 
loughby  Smith  has  met  his  fate  by  his  own  hand." 

Holmes  seemed  struck  by  the  theory  thus  put  forward, 
and  he  continued  to  walk  up  and  down  for  some  time,  lost 
in  thought  and  consuming  cigarette  after  cigarette. 

"Tell  me,  Professor  Coram,"  he  said,  at  last,  "what  is  in 
that  cupboard  in  the  bureau?" 

"Nothing  that  would  help  a  thief.  Family  papers,  letters 
from  my  poor  wife,  diplomas  of  universities  which  have  done 
me  honor.    Here  is  the  key.    You  can  look  for  yourself." 

Holmes  picked  up  the  key  and  looked  at  it  for  an  instant, 
then  he  handed  it  back. 

"No,  I  hardly  think  that  it  would  help  me,"  said  he.  "I 
should  prefer  to  go  quietly  down  to  your  garden,  and  turn 
the  whole  matter  over  in  my  head.  There  is  something  to 
be  said  for  the  theory  of  suicide  which  you  have  put  forward. 
We  must  apologize  for  having  intruded  upon  you,  Professor 
Coram,  and  I  promise  that  we  won't  disturb  you  until  after 
lunch.  At  two  o'clock  we  will  come  again,  and  report  to  you 
anything  which  may  have  happened  in  the  interval." 

Holmes  was  curiously  distrait,  and  we  walked  up  and 
down  the  garden  path  for  some  time  in  silence. 

"Have  you  a  clue?"  I  asked,  at  last. 

"It  depends  upon  those  cigarettes  that  I  smoked,"  said 
he.  "It  is  possible  that  I  am  utterly  mistaken.  The  cigar- 
ettes will  show  me." 

"My  dear  Holmes,"  I  exclaimed,  "how  on  earth — " 

"Well,  well,  you  may  see  for  yourself.   If  not,  there's  no 


harm  done.  Of  course,  we  always  have  the  optician  clue  to 
fall  back  upon,  but  I  take  a  short  cut  when  I  can  get  it. 
Ah,  here  is  the  good  Mrs.  Marker !  Let  us  enjoy  five  min- 
utes of  instructive  conversation  with  her." 

I  may  have  remarked  before. that  Holmes  had,  when  he 
liked,  a  peculiarly  ingratiating  way  with  women,  and  that  he 
very  readily  established  terms  of  confidence  with  them.  In 
half  the  time  which  he  had  named  he  had  captured  the 
housekeeper's  goodwill,  and  was  chatting  with  her  as  if  he 
had  known  her  for  years. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Holmes,  it  is  as  you  say,  sir.  He  does  smoke 
something  terrible.  All  day  and  sometimes  all  night,  sir. 
I've  seen  that  room  of  a  morning — well,  sir,  you'd  have 
thought  it  was  a  London  fog.  Poor  young  Mr.  Smith,  he 
was  a  smoker  also,  but  not  as  bad  as  the  Professor.  His 
health — well,  I  don't  know  that  it's  better  nor  worse  for  the 
smoking." 

"Ah!"  said  Holmes,  "but  it  kills  the  appetite." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  about  that,  sir." 

"I  suppose  the  Professor  eats  hardly  anything?" 

"Well,  he  is  variable.    I'll  say  that  for  him." 

"  I'll  wager  he  took  no  breakfast  this  morning,  and  won't 
face  his  lunch  after  all  the  cigarettes  I  saw  him  consume." 

"Well,  you're  out  there,  sir,  as  it  happens,  for  he  ate  a 
remarkable  big  breakfast  this  morning.  I  don't  know  when 
I've  known  him  make  a  better  one,  and  he's  ordered  a  good 
dish  of  cutlets  for  his  lunch.  I'm  surprised  myself,  for  since 
I  came  into  that  room  yesterday  and  saw  young  Mr.  Smith 
lying  there  on  the  floor,  I  couldn't  bear  to  look  at  food. 
Well,  it  takes  all  sorts  to  make  a  world,  and  the  Professor 
hasn't  let  it  take  his  appetite  away." 

We  loitered  the  morning  away  in  the  garden.  Stanley 
Hopkins  had  gone  down  to  the  village  to  look  into  son.c 
rumors  of  a  strange  woman  who  had  been  seen  by  some 
children  on  the  Chatham  Road  the  previous  tvming.  As 
to  my  friend,  all  his  usual  energy  seemed  to  have  deserted 
him.  I  had  never  known  him  handle  a  case  in  such  a  half- 
hearted fashion.  Even  the  news  brought  back  by  Hopkins 
that  he  had  found  the  children,  and  that  they  had  undoubt- 
edly seen  a  woman  exactly  corresponding  with  Holmes' 
description,  and  wearing  either  spectacles  or  eye-glasses, 
failed  to  rou<e  any  sign  of  keen  interest.  He  was  more 
attentive  when  Susan,  who  waited  upon  us  at  lunch,  volun- 
teered the  information  that  she*  believed  Mr.  Smith  had 
been  out  for  a  walk  yesterday  morning,  and  that  he  had  only 
returned  half  an  hour  before  the  tragedy  occurred.  I  could 
not  myself  see  the  bearing  of  this  incident,  but  I  clearly 
perceived  that  Holmes  was  weaving  it  into  the  general 
scheme  which  he  had  formed  in  his  brain.  Suddenly  he 
sprang  from  his  chair  and  glanced  at  his  watch.  "Two 
o'clock,  gentlemen,"  said  he.  "We  must  go  up  and  have  it 
out  with  our  friend,  the  Professor." 

The  old  man  had  just  finished  his  lunch,  and  certainly  his 
empty  dish  bore  evidence  to  the  good  appetite  with  which 
his  housekeeper  had  credited  him.  He  was,  indeed,  a 
weird  figure  as  he  turned  his  white  mane  and  his  glowing 
eyes  towards  us.  The  eternal  cigarette  smouldered  in  his 
mouth.  He  had  been  dressed,  and  was  seated  in  an  arm- 
chair by  the  fire. 

"Well,  Mr.  Holmes,  have  you  solved  this  mystery  yet?'' 
He  shoved  the  large  tin  of  cigarettes  which  stood  on  a  table 
beside  him  towards  my  companion.  Holmes  stretched  out 
his  hand  at  the  same  moment,  and  between  them  they 
tipped  the  box  over  the  edge.  For  a  minute  or  two  we  were 
all  on  our  knees  retrieving  stray  cigarettes  from  impossible 
places.   When  we  rose  again,  I  observed  Holmes'  eyes  were 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  "THE  GOLDEN  PTNCE-NEZ 


shining  and  his  cheeks  tinged  with  color.  Only  at  a  crisis 
have  I  seen  those  battle-signals  flying. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "I  have  solved  it." 

Stanley  Hopkins  and  I  stared  in  amazement.  Some- 
thing like  a  sneer  quivered  over  the  gaunt  features  of  the 
old  Professor. 

"Indeed!    In  the  garden?" 

"No,  here." 

"Here  I  When?" 

"This  instant." 

"You  are  surely  joking,  Mr.  Sherlock  Holmes.  You 
compel  me  to  tell  you  that  this  is  too  serious  a  matter  to  be 
treated  in  such  a  fashion." 

"I  have  forged  and  tested  every  link  of  my  chain,  Pro- 
fessor Coram,  and  I  am  sure  that  it  is  sound.  What  your 
motives  are,  or  what  exact  part  you  play  in  this  strange 
business,  I  am  not  yet  able  to  say.  In  a  few  minutes  I  shall 
probably  hear  it  from  your  own  lips.  Meanwhile  I  will  re- 
construct what  is  past  for  your  benefit,  so  that  you  may 
know  the  information  which  I  still  require. 

"A  lady  yesterday  entered  your  study.  She  came  with 
the  intention  of  possessing  herself  of  certain  documents 
which  were  in  your  bureau.  She  had  a  key  of  her  own.  I 
have  had  an  opportunity  of  examining  yours,  and  I  do  not 
find  that  slight  discoloration  which  the  scratch  made  upon 
the  varnish  would  have  produced.  You  were  not  an  acces- 
sor therefore,  and  she  came,  so  far  as  I  can  read  the  evi- 
dence, without  your  knowledge,  to  rob  you." 

The  Professor  blew  a  cloud  from  his  lips.  "This  is  most 
interesting  and  instructive,"  said  he.  "Have  you  no  more 
to  add?  Surely,  having  traced  this  lady  so  far,  you  can 
also  say  what  has  become  of  her." 

"I  will  endeavor  to  do  so.  In  the  first  place  she  was 
seized  by  your  secretary,  and  stabbed  him  in  order  to 
escape.  This  catastrophe  I  am  inclined  to  regard  as  an 
unhappy  accident,  for  I  am  convinced  that  the  lady  had  no 
intention  of  inflicting  so  grievous  an  injury.  An  assassin 
does  not  come  unarmed.  Horrified  by  what  she  had  done, 
she  rushed  wildly  away  from  the  scene  of  the  tragedy.  Un- 
fortunately for  her,  she  had  lost  her  glasses  in  the  scuffle, 
and  as  she  was  extremely  short-sighted  she  was  really  help- 
less without  them.  She  ran  down  a  corridor,  which  she 
imagined  to  be  that  by  which  she  had  come — both  were 
lined  with  cocoanut  matting — and  it  was  only  when  it  was 
too  late  that  she  understood  that  she  had  taken  the  wrong 
passage  and  that  her  retreat  was  cut  off  behind  her.  What 
was  she  to  do?  She  could  not  go  back.  She  could  not  re- 
main where  she  was.  She  must  go  on.  She  went  on.  She 
mounted  a  stair,  pushed  open  a  door  and  found  herself  in 
your  room." 

The  old  man  sat  with  his  mouth  open,  staring  wildly  at 
Holmes.  Amazement  and  fear  were  stamped  upon  his  ex- 
pressive features.  Now,  with  an  effort,  he  shrugged  his 
shoulders  and  burst  into  insincere  laughter. 

"All  very  fine,  Mr.  Holmes,"  said  he.  "But  there  is  one 
little  flaw  in  your  splendid  theory.  I  was  myself  in  my 
room,  and  I  never  left  it  during  the  day." 

"I  am  aware  of  that,  Professor  Coram." 

"And  you  mean  to  say  that  I  could  lie  upon  that  bed  and 
not  be  aware  that  a  woman  had  entered  my  room?" 

"  I  never  said  so.  You  were  aware  of  it.  You  spoke  with 
her.   You  recognized  her.    You  aided  her  to  escape." 

Again  the  Professor  burst  into  high-keyed  laughter.  He 
had  risen  to  his  feet,  and  his  eyes  glowed  like  embers. 

"You  are  mad !"  he  cried.  "  You  are  talking  insanely.  I 
helped  her  to  escape?    Where  is  she  now?" 


n 


"She  is  there,"  said  Holmes,  and  he  pointed  to  a  high 
book-case  in  the  corner  of  the  room. 

I  saw  the  old  man  throw  up  his  hands,  a  terrible  convul- 
sion passed  over  his  grim  face,  and  he  fell  back  in  his  chair. 
At  the  same  instant  the  bookcase  at  which  Holmes  pointed 
swung  round  upon  a  hinge,  and  a  woman  rushed  out  into 
the  room.  "You  are  right!"  she  cried,  in  a  strange,  for- 
eign voice.   "  You  are  right !    I  am  here." 

She  was  brown  with  the  dust,  and  draped  with  the  cob- 
webs, which  had  come  from  the  walls  of  her  hiding  place. 
Her  face,  too,  was  streaked  with  grime,  and  at  the  best  she- 
could  never  have  been  handsome,  for  she  had.  the  ex&ci> 
physical  characteristics  which  Holmes-  had  divined,  with; 
in  addition,  a  long  and  obstinate  chin.  What  with  her  nat- 
ural blindness,  and  what  with  the  change  from  dark  to 
light,  she  stood  as  one  dazed,  blinking  about  her  to  see 
where  and  who  we  were.  And  yet,  in  spite  of  all  these  dis- 
advantages, there  was  a  certain  nobility  in  the  woman's 
bearing— a  gallantry  in  the  defiant  chin  and  in  the  upraised 
head,  which  compelled  something  of  respect  and  admi- 
ration. 

Stanley  Hopkins  had  laid  his  hand  upon  her  arm  and 
claimed  her  as  his  prisoner,  but  she  waved  him  aside  gently, 
and  yet  with  an  overmastering  dignity  which  compelled 
obedience.  The  old  man  lay  back  in  his  chair  with  a  twitch- 
ing face  and  stared  at  her  with  brooding  eyes. 

"Yes,  sir,  I  am  vour  prisoner,"  she  said.  "  From  where  I 
stood  I  could  hear  everything,  and  I  know  that  you  have 
learned  the  truth.  I  confess  it  all.  It  was  I  who  killed  the 
young  man.  But  you  are  right-^you  who  say  it  was  an 
accident.  I  did  not  even  know  that  it  was  a  knife  which  I 
held  in  my  hand,  for  in  my  despair  I  snatched  anything 
from  the  table  and  struck  at  him  to  make  him  let  me  go. 
It  is  the  truth  that  I  tell." 

"Madam,"  said  Holmes,  "I  am  sure  that  it  is  the  truth. 
I  fear  that  you  are  far  from  well." 

She  had  turned  a  dreadful  color,  the  more  ghastly  under 
the  dark  dust-streaks  upon  her  face.  She  seated  herself  on 
the  side  of  the  bed;  then  she  resumed. 

"I  have  only  a  little  time  here,"  she  said,  "but  I  would 
have  vou  to  know  the  whole  truth.  I  am  this  man's  wife. 
He  is  not  an  Englishman.  He  is  a  Russian.  His  name  I  will 
not  tell." 

For  the  first  time  the  old  man  stirred.  "God  bless  you, 
Anna ! ' '  he  cried .    "  God  bless  you ! " 

She  cast  a  look  of  the  deepest  disdain  in  his  direction. 
"Why  should  you  cling  so  hard  to  that  wretched  life  of 
yours,  'Sergius?"  said  she.  "It  has  done  harm  to  many,  and 
good  to  none — -not  even  to  yourself.  However,  it  is  not  for 
me  to  cause  the  frail  thread  to  be  snapped  before  God's 
time.  I  have  enough  already  upon  my  soul  since  I  crossed 
the  threshold  of  this  cursed  house.  But  I  must  speak  or  I 
shall  be  too  late."  _  ■ 

"I  have  said,  gentlemen,  that  I  am  this  man's  wife.  He 
was  50  and  I  a  foolish  girl  of  20  when  we  married.  It  was  in 
a  city  of  Russia,  a  university — I  will  not  name  the  place." 

"God  bless  you,  Anna!"  murmured  the  old  man  again. 

"We  were  reformers — revolutionists — Nihilists,  you  un- 
derstand. He  and  I  and  many  more.  Then  there  came  a 
time  of  trouble,  a  police  officer  was  killed,  many  were 
arrested,  evidence  was  wanted,  and  in  order  to  save  his  own 
life  and  to  earn  a  great  reward  my  husband  betrayed  his 
own  wife  and  his  companions.  Yes,  we  were  all  arrested 
upon  his  confession.  Some  of  us  found  our  way  to  the  gal- 
lows, and  some  to  Siberia.  I  was  among  these  last,  but  my 
term  was  not  for  life.  My  husband  came  to  England  with 
his  ill-gotten  gains,  and  has  lived  in  quiet  ever  since,  know- 


H 


MASTERPIECES  OF  SHERLOCK  HOLMES 


ing  well  that  if  the  Brotherhood  knew  where  he  was  not  a 
week  would  pass  before  justice,  would  be  done." 

The  old  man  reached  out  a  trembling  hand,  and  helped 
himself  to  a  cigarette.  "  I  am  in  your  hands,  Anna,"  said  he. 
"You  Were  always  good  to  me." 

"1  have  not  yet  told  you  the  height  of  his  villainy,"  said 
she.  "Among  our  comrades  of  the  Order  there  was  one  who 
was  the  friend  of  my  heart.  He  was  noble,  unselfish,  loving 
> — all  that  my  husband  was  not.  He  hated  violence.  We 
were  all  guilty — if  that  is  guilt — but  he  was  not.  He  wrote 
for  ever  dissuading  us  from  such  a  course.  These  letters 
would  have  saved  him.  So  would  my  diary,  in  which,  from 
day  to  day,  I  had  entered  both  my  feelings  towards  him  and 
the  view  which  each  of  us  had  taken.  My  husband  found 
and  kept  both  diary  and  letters.  He  hid  them,  and  he  tried 
hard  to  swear  away  the  young  man's  life.  In  this  he  failed, 
but  Alexis  was  sent  a  convict  to  Siberia,  where  now,  at  this 
moment,  he  works  in  a  salt  mine.  Think  of  that,  you  vil- 
lain, you  villain  I  — now,  now,  at  this  very  moment,  Alexis,  a 
man  whose  name  you  are  not  worthy  to  speak,  works  and 
lives  like  a  slave,  and  yet  I  have  your  life  in  my  hands,  and  I 
let  you  go." 

"You  were  always  a  noble  woman,  Anna,"  said  the  old 
man,  puffing  at  his  cigarette. 

She  had  risen,  but  she  fell  back  again  with  a  little  cry  of 
pain. 

"I  must  finish,"  she  said.  "When  my  term  was  over  I  set 
myself  to  get  the  diary  and  letters  which,  if  sent  to  the  Rus- 
sian Government,  would  procure  my  friend's  release.  I 
knew  that  my  husband  had  come  to  England.  After  months 
of  searching  I  discovered  where  he  was.  I  knew  that  he  still 
had  the  diary,  for  when  I  was  in  Siberia  I  had  a  letter  from 
him  once,  reproaching  me  and  quoting  some  passages  from 
its  pages.  Yet  I  was  sure  that,  with  his  revengeful  nature, 
he  would  never  give  it  to  me  of  his  own  free  will.  I  must  get 
it  for  myself.  With  this  object  I  engaged  an  agent  from  a 
private  detective  firm,  who  entered  my  husband's  bouse  as  a 
secretary — it  was  your  second  secretary,  Sergius,  the  one 
who  left  you  so  hurriedly.  He  found  that  papers  were  kept 
in  the  cupboard,  and  he  got  an  impression  of  the  key.  He 
would  not  go  farther.  He  furnished  me  with  a  plan  of  the 
house,  and  he  told  me  that  in  the  forenoon  the  study  was 
always  empty,  as  the  secretary  was  employed  up  here.  So 
at  last  I  took  my  courage  in  both  hands,  and  I  came  down  to 
get  the  papers  for  myself.   I  succeeded :  but  at  what  a  cost ! 

"I  had  just  taken  the  papers  and  was  locking  the  cup- 
board, when  the  young  man  seized  me.  I  had  seen  him 
already  that  morning.  He  had  met  me  on  the  road,  and  I 
had  asked  him  to  tell  me  where  Professor  Coram  lived,  not 
Snowing  that  he  was  in  his  employ." 

"Exactly!  Exactly!"  said  Holmes.  "The  secretary 
came  back,  and  told  his  employer  of  the  woman  he  had  met. 
Then  in  his  last  breath  he  tried  to  send  a  message  that  it 
was  she — the  she  whom  he  had  just  discussed  with  him." 

You  must  let  me  speak,"  said  the  woman,  in  an  impera- 
tive voice,  and  her  face  contracted  as  if  in  pain.  "When  he 
had  fallen  I  rushed  from  the  room,  chose  the  wrong  door, 
and  found  myself  in  my  husband's  room.  He  spoke  of  giv- 
ing me  up.  I  showed  him  that  if  he  did  so  his  life  was  in  my 
hands.  If  he  gave  me  to  the  law,  I  could  give  him  to  the 
Brotherhood.  It  was  not  that  I  wished  to  live  for  my  own 
sake,  but  it  was  that  I  desired  to  accomplish  my  purpose. 
He  knew  that  I  would  do  what  I  said — that  his  own  fate  was 


involved  in  mine.  For  that  reason,  and  for  no  other,  he 
shielded  me.  He  thrust  me  into  that  dark  hiding  place — a 
relic  of  old  days,  known  only  to  himself.  He  took  his  meals 
in  his  own  room,  and  so  was  able  to  give  me  part  of  his  food. 
It  was  agreed  that  when  the  police  left  the  house  I  should 
slip  away  by  night  and  come  back  no  more.  But  in  some 
way  you  have  read  our  plans."  She  tore  from  the  bosom  of 
her  dress  a  small  packet.  "These  are  my  last  words,"  said 
she;  "here  is  the  packet  which  will  save  Alexis.  I  confide 
it  to  your  honor  and  love  of  justice.  Take  it!  You  will 
deliver  it  at  the  Russian  embassy.  Now,  I  have  done 
my  duty,  and—" 

"Stop  her!"  cried  Holmes.  He  had  bounded  across 
the  room,  and  had  wrenched  a  small  phial  from  her  hand. 

"Too  late!"  she  said,  sinking  back  on  the  bed.  "Too 
late !  I  took  the  poison  before  I  left  my  hiding  place.  My 
head  swims !  I  am  going !  I  charge  you,  sir,  to  remember 
the  packet." 

"A  simple  case,  and  yet,  in  some  ways,  an  instructive 
one,"  Holmes  remarked,  as  we  travelled  back  to  town. 
"It  hinged  from  the  outset  on  the  pince-nez.  But  for  the 
fortunate  chance  of  the  dying  man  having  seized  these, 
I  am  not  sure  that  we  should  ever  have  reached  our  solution. 
It  was  clear  to  me,  from  the  strength  of  the  glasses,  that 
the  wearer  must  have  been  very  blind  and  helpless  when 
deprived  of  them.  When  you  asked  me  to  believe  that 
she  walked  along  a  narrow  strip  of  grass  without  once 
making  a  false  step,  I  remarked,  as  you  may  remember, 
that  it  was  a  noteworthy  performance.  In  my  mind  I 
set  it  down  as  an  impossible  performance,  save  in  the 
unlikely  case  that  she  had  a  second  pair  of  glasses.  I  was 
forced  therefore,  to  consider  the  hypothesis  that  she  had 
remained  within  the  house.  On  perceiving  the  similarity 
of  the  two  corridors,  it  became  clear  that  she  might  very 
easily  have  made  such  a  mistake,  and,  in  that  case,  it  was 
evident  tha£  she  must  have  entered  the  Professor's  room. 
I  was  keenly  on  the  alert,  therefore,  for  whatever  would 
bear  out  this  supposition,  and  I  examined  the  room  narrowly 
for  anything  in  the  shape  of  a  hiding-place.  The  carpet 
seemed  continuous  and  firmly  nailed,  so  I  dismissed  the 
idea  of  a  trap  door.  There  might  well  be  a  recess  behind 
the  books.  As  you  are  aware,  such  devices  are  common  in 
old  libraries.  I  observed  that  books  were  piled  on  the  floor 
at  all  other  points,  but  that  one  bookcase  was  left  clear. 
This,  then,  might  be  the  door.  I  could  see  no  marks  to 
guide  me,  but  the  carpet  was  of  a  dun  color,  which  lends 
itself  very  well  to  examination.  I  therefore  smoked  a  great 
number  of  those  excellent  cigarettes,  and  I  dropped  the 
ash  all  over  the  space  in  front  of  the  suspected  bookcase. 
It  was  a  simple  trick,  but  exceedingly  effective.  I  then 
went  downstairs,  and  I  ascertained,  in  your  presence, 
Watson,  without  your  perceiving  the  drift  of  my  remarks, 
that  Professor  Coram's  consumption  of  food  had  increased 
— as  one  would  suspect  when  he  is  supplying  a  second 
person.  We  then  ascended  to  the  room  again,  when, 
by  upsetting  the  cigarette-box,  I  obtained  a  very  excellent 
view  of  the  floor,  and  was  able  to  see  quite  clearly,  from 
the  tracks  upon  the  cigarette  ash,  that  the  prisoner  had  in 
our  absence  come  out  from  her  retreat.  Well,  Hopkins, 
here  we  are  at  Charing  Cross,  and  I  congratulate  you  on 
having  brought  your  case  to  a  successful  conclusion.  You 
are  going  to  headquarters,  no  doubt.  I  think,  Watson, 
you  and  I  will  drive  together  to  the  Russian  Embassy." 


THE  END. 


Jfe&terpieces 

SJier/ocA  Holmes 


mm 


BOSTON  SUNDAY  POST 


.  Trim  after  folding  on  this  line . 


